


Side Squeeze Scribbles

by pseudofaux



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY, 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos | Samurai Love Ballad (Visual Novel)
Genre: (LOOK UNDER YOUR SEATS; IT'S AN ORAL SEX!), F/M, Kanetsugu as I think many of us dream him to be, Loss of Virginity, Masanori really does the gd thing, More Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Sadness, YOU get an oral sex and YOU get an oral sex, blindfold, dom no rikyu WHAAAAT, get Ai a sibling 2019, justice for Hideri!, little of that!, little of this, sen no rikyu is entirely too mysterious, y do Keiji do so many smooch?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Standalones/one-shots for side characters from SLBP. Mostly smut-adjacent if not outright. First chapter is a current listing of the stories/chapters that follow.





	1. Table of Contents

Thanks for reading! I'm going to continue posting longer stories and stories for characters with routes (or routes to be) as their own stories here, but this will be my one spot to collect short works on side characters, so hopefully I won't clog the fandom listing so much. They'll go up in order I write or post or whatever, so this page/chapter will be the easiest way to see what is where. Please enjoy!

* * *

 

Chapter 2: Spell (Sen no Rikyū)

Chapter 3: Drought and Downfall (Keiji)

Chapter 4: Anything (Masanori)

Chapter 5: Second Spell (Sen no Rikyū)

Chapter 6: Venture (Kanetsugu)

Chapter 7: Vermilion (Masanori)


	2. Spell (Sen no Rikyū)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this for Mari when we were lusting over the possibility of an oyaji event (y u TAUNT me, voltage?!)

“Tea ceremony is _ceremony_ ,” he intoned, solemn but smiling as though he were deeply pleased to make this point to you. “So this space is sacred now. Answer without speaking, dear one: don’t you agree?”

You nodded, trying to keep up with him. It was nothing to be lost in the musing softness of his voice, the magic of his words, the slow smoothness of his gestures. The tea master’s otherworldly tranquility overwhelmed you into agreement before you could consider any other answer. In the back of your mind, you realized that of course there was no other answer; not only was he right, you wanted him to be right. Was he hypnotizing you? When had it started? Yesterday, when he arrived, or earlier today, when he’d asked you to return to this room, or just a moment ago, when you had? You’d been dazzled all over again by his presence, his very self somehow sunrise cresting a mountain and blinding you. Beautifully. He was so beautiful.

Something about him made you dizzy. In fact, you were swaying in time with his sleeves. Your knees and your shins were on the tatami, and the rest of you was softly moving left to right. Your soul felt as though it were hanging on his presence. Perhaps he had hypnotized you, but you watched him raptly and were happy, so very happy, to have been singled out by him for this time.

“I’m glad you agree, sweet girl,” he murmured. “Lovely. You’re blending in so nicely and complementing all your surroundings.”

You sighed like the lovesick fool you were, relieved to a depth you could not understand to have pleased him in this way. You resolved to not speak and intrude upon the sacredness of this space until he told you to do so.

“Stay where you are, up from your knees like that,” he said quietly, looking down at you from a few feet away. Elegant as a court painting, he raised fingers to his chin. “Can you hold out your hands and be as still as a bird in the brush, beautiful girl?”

In a trance you had no inclination to resist, your hands were cupped in front of you, supplicating for nothing so much as him to be pleased with you.

His smile was beautiful, and somehow hard. Sen no Rikyū presided over tea ceremonies for Lords and the Emperor. Oh, you wanted to do better, you wanted him to smile in real pleasure again! But what to do? You despaired.

“A little closer to your body, lovely bird,” he encouraged, and you complied immediately. Your wrists were against your chest, hands together as though waiting for water. He rewarded you with an indulgent look that coaxed a happy sigh from the back of your mouth and the depths of your heart.

“Stay just like that, very still,” he said, voice light because someone like him didn’t need to make his words heavy to know they would be obeyed.

He turned away from you and worked at the floor for a moment before returning with a priceless glazed cup. It was vivid blue against soft white in the pattern of grasses. The painting was so beautiful the simple motif shone like something far more intricate. Sen no Rikyū was holding the cup as you held your hands, palms to the ceiling, and you knew the elegance of his steps meant the tea in the cup didn’t even shiver. As his long, pale fingers plucked the cup to move it down to your hands, he said, “This is exquisite tea, in an exquisite cup, which suits what we shall do here now. Yes?”

You nodded slowly, swallowing and trying to match his solemnity and all the beauty he seemed willing to trust you with.

The smile he gave you was like a god favoring a loyal adherent, and you felt lucky in every part of you to have his favor for however long he would grant it. He put the cup in your hands and pressed gently, settling it into the cradle you’d created.

“You must stay still and keep the tea safe in the cup, little bird in the brush,” he instructed. “Please don’t spill it. No matter what.”

You nodded again. You would stay like that until the castle around you fell to keep the tea where it was. You wouldn’t fail him, someone would have to cut you down to break the spell of his decree.

“Your dedication is admirable,” he murmured, stroking your cheek with warm fingertips you wanted to lean into but could not— because you had to be very still. You had to do as he bid. You let your eyes plead with him to understand, and he graced you with a smile so benevolent you wanted to cry. You stowed the feeling for later.

He slid his fingers toward your ear until his palm was against your cheek.

“So sweet,” he observed. “Such a good listener. Open your mouth, dearest.”

You did, curious but committed.

A finger from his other hand prodded at your teeth and your tongue, and then he traced the curves of your lips with that finger, wet from your own mouth.

“You’ll do so nicely, I think. You promise not to spill?”

Mouth still open, mindful of the precious tea, you nodded minutely.

Sen no Rikyū kept his dark eyes on yours as he parted his robes. The tea master smiled beatifically at your as he brought the head of his cock to your open lips. He licked his own, his elegance covering the carnality of the gesture with the finest silk imaginable.

“Keep your promise, lovely girl, and I will give you something wonderful,” he promised in a whisper.

He slid his cock into your mouth and his fingers into your hair, and you believed him.


	3. Drought and Downfall (Keiji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Keiji always go for Hideyoshi? Maybe because of something like this. Set before the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hideri" is a Japanese term for drought.

Hideri was her name, and from the way the madam introduced her in the selection room of the brothel it was clear that was some kind of joke. Indeed, when Hideri’s eyes came up to his, the warm brown of a doe in the sun, all the coyness of her smile invited him in on some secret he was the only person in the room not to know.

Later that evening, when he tumbled onto her futon and made the first motions of learning her body, he thought he might understand. She was no drought; she was a river in both force and slickness. And in his heart, already a grown man, he knew he couldn’t, but he _wanted_ to drown in her and kiss the softness of her smiling lips always.

He left the brothel stumbling and smiling, a little in love with her. A little, at least. Enough to go back. And back. And nowhere else.

Her lips and the things they did… of course all of the skilled ways she used them on his body were magnificent, she was a whore. A sweet-hearted, lovely-eyed, generous whore. She’d be trained in these things. But the way her smile made her eyes melt golden and his heart along with it, that was truly something. Hideri would pour for him and revel in his high spirits or coax him closer to happiness or just be kind and full of care for him. She would touch him and meet his eyes and say something soft, something that might be tender or tawdry but she’d say it so, so softly. And in her bed she would clench and gush around him, calling him with his family name and honorific, and it gave him a peace tinged with smugness he had never known he wanted.  

He went to see her as soon as he could after returning to Arako at the end of campaigns, and brought her treats. He didn’t know if her delight was practiced or not, but it felt genuine. It genuinely made him feel good.

He loved fucking her, but they didn’t always get to it and didn’t always need to. Sometimes they just made each other laugh—and he didn’t think someone could fake that laugh, the only part of her that wasn’t sexy, which made it even more attractive to him. Other whores laughed demurely, elegantly; Hideri guffawed. She would throw her head back and sometimes little diamonds glinted on her lashes as she caught her breath. He loved that laugh. He liked tickling her to make it keep going. Liked where it usually ended up, her smiling warmly under him, robes coming loose, rouge vivid, reaching to cup his face and whisper that he was _so wonderful_.

One afternoon she had botamochi waiting for him, each piece spread with jam. They made a game of tucking pieces into each other’s navels to eat. If was an afternoon of swirling tongues and sweet whispers. When he left, Keiji thought she was a little in love with him. A little, at least. She knew what he’d liked, and she had gotten botamochi each day for the last several days, knowing he’d visit but not precisely when.

He knew he couldn’t marry her, but he had thoughts of trying to make things more official or exclusive between them, even thoughts of asking old Okumura for advice. He had thoughts about asking her if she would like that kind of thing, but was happier to be happy in her presence than to do much thinking. He was young, unconsciously selfish, and very taken with her and how good she made him feel. In a backwards way she made him aware of his aching loneliness by how completely she soothed whatever else was troubling him.

Her skin was so plush and soft, especially her lips, and he learned to kiss her in the privacy of her room. Learned to make her lashes flutter together and make her make that sublime quiet, contented sigh. She was lovely, and she felt even better than she looked. Her mouth… rouged or smeared or clean, it was the most amazing thing to kiss her. And when he wasn’t kissing her she was so full of laughter, that loud laugh and more girlish giggles, bawdy and vibrant and unforced and worth everything he spent to be with her, five times over. More. Worth so much more. He didn’t think he was melancholy man but with her, he knew he was happy.

His father knew what kind of place he was going to, and might have known specifically where and specifically who he was seeing. But Keiji knew not to bring it up at home, and his father was busy enough running the clan that dalliances weren’t worthy of so much as a sharp word. He didn’t like to think about what part of that hurt more, so he didn’t.

Being with Hideri made him more of a man, he realized. And when Keiji started to serve in a more functional way in battle, his strength got noticed. He kind of enjoyed battle, but there were things he enjoyed more. He would go to a different place in his head when he fought, remembering being comforted by his mother, or by Hideri. And he would cut down the enemies of the Maeda like he was supposed to, and then drink and make nice with the other soldiers. And then go home. And then go where he wanted.

One day he went where he wanted to go, but she wasn’t there. There was always the risk that she might be with someone else when he came by unannounced, but the madam pulled him aside, into a room he’d never been in, with one of the guards.

She told him sadly that Hideri had been killed by a patron. Keiji wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

The madam said the man had been arrested. There was no escaping what he’d done.

Keiji still wasn’t quite sure how to feel. He wished he could be somewhere quiet with Hideri. But he couldn’t.

He gave the madam half of his purse and asked that she burn incense for… her. And not forget. The older woman gave him a shrewd look, then agreed.

Keiji went to a restaurant and got very, very drunk. He fell as he was leaving, waved off help, and then fell down some stairs when he was ambling around because he couldn’t find his way home. He cried, overwhelmed by loneliness and coldness and sadness and the way his head hurt. He fell asleep with blood-sticky fingers digging into the earth, wishing he could kiss someone sweet and feel happy instead of all of this.

When he woke he was clean and confused, and a servant he recognized was leaning over him fretfully.

His father was called into his room, and the glare the Lord of Arako leveled on Keiji made him want to curl into the bedding. But he was too tired and empty of heart to move, though he wasn’t sure quite why. So he held his father’s sharp eyes, and saw when the older man’s severity crumbled into something that might have been commiseration. And he saw his father’s hand come forward to rest in his hair, stroking him and comforting him, until he fell back asleep and saw no more.

When Toshiie started to make friends and a name for himself in Owari, Keiji was sent to check on him. And he went, because that was what he was supposed to do, and while he wandered and had his fun he did obey orders. Almost always.

One of Toshiie’s fellows (in a friendly, adversarial, curious sort of way) was Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Who had golden brown eyes like a doe in the sun, and a kind smile, and a rich laugh, and lips that looked so very soft. And it made Keiji sad and silly and happy, at all once, to meet this person.

He didn’t quite know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this after finishing Inuchiyo's route and wondering for a while: why does Keiji zero in on Hideyoshi for smooches? Get in LINE, Keiji! XD jk ilu over the moon, boo
> 
> This was a possibility an under-the-bridge part of my brain came up with.


	4. Anything (Masanori)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for sweet @wingcinna on tumblr. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> androgenius kindly provided encouragement and commentary that got this finished! Merci!

“You want me to do **_what_**?!” he asked, knowing it came out as a yell and instantly regretting it. He didn’t feel angry, exactly, more like preemptively embarrassed. She had to be teasing him, even though she didn’t, usually. Ever. But this…

“I want,” she repeated carefully, looking him in the eye, all her sincerity on display, “you to blindfold me. And-- and touch me however you like!” she squeaked, the words coming out in a rush. She was pinked and adorable but he still felt like he was being made fun of. He just looked at her, hurt.

“You don’t have to,” she added. “But Kiyomasa suggested--”

“What the hell did that idiot say to you?!” Masanori demanded, shooting to his feet. That time he had really roared, so he took a deep breath. Kiyomasa plenty earned being shouted at, but Masanori never wanted to shout at her.

He began to apologize at the same moment she began to reassure him. “Not to me!” she explained. Her hands were laying themselves against his chest and pressing slightly for emphasis. “I just overheard him flirting with one of the maids. And I thought I wanted to try what he was suggesting. With you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly, wanting to make sure the apology reached her. He allowed himself to be pushed back to sitting, and she knelt to sit formally in front of him. Her hands reached for one of his.

“Kiyomasa wouldn’t dare,” she told him gently. “He knows I’m not interested.”

That made him smile, too, and glance up from her hands to her face.

“And that you’d kill him,” she added with the charming little smile he loved so much. He raised his hand, covered by hers, to his mouth, and pressed remorseful kisses to her fingers.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I thought you were making fun of me.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she promised.

Masanori let his elbow rest on his thigh and his head rest on their hands. He could smell shiso on her skin, lingering from her kitchen work. She was a good woman. He shouldn’t doubt her.

“You really want that?” he asked quietly.

“I really do,” she said, soft and earnest.

“Hmm,” he said, and they sat like that for a few moments before she had to leave.

* * *

 

He was distracted at dinner, and of half a mind to pull her away and talk more about what she’d said instead of letting other retainers whine at her for drinks and second helpings. He kept to his seat by remembering the warmth and softness and smell of her that afternoon, and considering what she’d asked of him.

Cover her eyes? He could think of several reasons she would want to do that, none of which made him feel good. Maybe she didn’t like the way he looked, or felt like he was pressuring her. Maybe she wanted to imagine he was someone else. Maybe she’d look beautiful and wanton and lost like that, and need him to lead her. He sighed at his soup and waved away Kiyomasa without bothering to look at him.

“If your face sticks like that you can lay off the mask,” observed his friend. Masanori glared at him but Kiyomasa only laughed. As usual.

Unwilling to endure any more of the noise, he excused himself from dinner early. He passed her on the way out and when their eyes met he gave her a firm nod. She gave him a much prettier smile, and a much softer nod, and he left knowing she would come back to his room later and stay with him that night.

* * *

 

He liked her in every color but loved her in red. He had an old kimono she could practically swim in, head and hands emerging from the fabric in a way that made his chest tight even when the faded red obscured the rest of her form. She was wearing it tonight, and she was with him, and he was happy.

“A blindfold,” he brought up, as they shared a drink. He was comfortable enough here with her that he thought he sounded more amused than embarrassed.

“A blindfold,” she agreed, holding back a sleeve as she filled his cup. “If that’s something you’re willing to do.”

“I would do anything for you,” he said, voice gone gravely in his seriousness while he watched her movements. He saw as she was startled by his words and her-- his-- sleeve around her arm fell down, red and rapid as blood.

“Masanori…” she trailed off. He didn’t like to make her uncomfortable but he loved making her blush, especially with his name on her lips. Something about it made him feel right.

“You want a blindfold, I’ll get you a blindfold,” he said, looking her right in the eyes. Her mouth popped open a bit as her eyes widened. She didn’t say anything, but she nodded with enthusiasm.

“That’s that, then,” he said.

“Not just any blindfold,” she breathed, scooting so her knees touched his shins. She looked at him daringly before she reached for her own cup, tipped it back with a gulp, and dropped it onto the floor behind her. Her face came much closer to his and then _he_ gulped.

“I wanted to ask you to use your mask,” she confessed, pink tongue brushing her lips the way he wanted to. “But it wouldn’t make a very good blindfold. I want it to be something of yours, though. Do you have anything else?”

His blood was rushing in his ears. This was all skirting dangerously close to his erotic dreams. He felt too warm and like his sleeping robe, usually so comfortable, was too tight.

All he managed was an “...Uh.” She laughed, loose from the sake and broken tension, and leaned to rest her forehead on his chest. Her hands rested peacefully on the fabric covering him. He liked her close like this.

“I love you, Masanori,” she whispered. “I just… don’t want to know what you’ll do to me. That’s all. It’s not that I don’t want to see your face.”

He was blushing from her touching on his fears, but he was happy. He leaned back, gently pulled her chin up, and put his mouth to hers. Her happy sigh against his lips was something he tucked into his soul for the next time he needed a reason to keep fighting.

There was never enough time to kiss her, but they took their time now, slow kisses leading to grasps and gasps and warmth. Some of her nails were scratching his scalp through the short hair and it was intensely pleasurable. He squeezed her closer, bringing her most of the way into his lap, and let his hands slide over her back and hips. Those hips. He loved those damn hips.

When they were both panting and she was leaning heavily on him, Masanori squeezed her once more and pulled back. Her blissful, open-mouthed face made it hard to separate from her, but he stood so he could walk across the room. He took the sash he wore with his armor off the stand, and brought it back to her. He held it up and she nodded.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” he checked.

She took the hand he offered her and stood up. “I’m sure this is what I want,” she told him, eyes shining, voice serious. “Put it on me and touch me, please,” she whispered.

So he did. He looped the tails of the belt into a bow behind her head, and then thumbed her cheeks as he kissed her forehead.

“I’m going to sit down. Take off the robe,” he said. “Slowly.”

Fists clenched on his lap, Masanori watched as she worked the tie loose and dragged it away, dropping it to the floor with the same graceful carelessness she’d thrown her cup with earlier. An unbroken, gorgeous line of her body was exposed before she shrugged the robe from her shoulders and gradually let the entire thing fall. First to her grip, then to the floor.

“I love how you look right now,” he confessed. “Tell me how you feel.”

She smiled. “Excited,” she said slowly. “Exposed. A little cold.”

Her obvious happiness made him more confident. “Do you want to be warm?”

He knew just how her eyes looked behind the blindfold when she nodded, because he knew that smile as well as the feel of a sword in his hand.

“Come here,” he said, reaching out to guide her by her thighs. She stepped forward and he helped her turn around and seat herself in his lap.

“Warmer?” he asked.

She hummed dreamily, shifting against him.

“Put your hands behind your neck,” he murmured. “Elbows up.”

She complied so quickly he lost his train of thought and had to regroup. He decided to focus on keeping his voice steady and pleasing her until something came to him. He pressed a quick kiss to her fingers as he drew a breath.

“I’m going to touch you now,” he said. She trembled a little and pressed back against his body.

He kept his hands slow enough for both of them to appreciate-- he hoped-- what he was doing, sliding up from her waist to her chest. He liked feeling her skin go a bit bumpy and the muscles of her legs tense on top of his own. She sighed and relaxed against him when his hands cupped the breasts her position was pushing into the air, her rear stroking his hardness as she undulated against him with tiny, hopeful movements.

Most women felt petite next to him, but none felt as perfect as she did. Her body was soft and pliant and curving where his was stretched strength.

This was a good way to start things, he told himself. They wouldn’t be able to see one another in this position anyway, so it didn’t feel any more illicit than their usual intimacy. He could try to build things up for them both. He felt… optimistic. And familiarly covetous of her, particularly as his fingers rolled the squishy nubs peaking each breast. Her squeak made his cock thump against her back.

Sometimes he wanted to cover her body and shield her from the world, and other times he wanted to open her up as wide as she could go and push her sweet cries into the world so everyone could hear. He didn’t _really_ want anyone to hear her, he wanted to preserve their privacy. But she sounded so good and he felt so good when she made those noises...  

For now, he wanted to be here and make this good for her. He leaned forward to brush the back of her ear with his nose, and hummed out a breath and relished the way she went stiff and then bounced a little. She seemed very into this, just as she said she would be. Remembering her saying that she wanted to not know what was coming, he pinched her nipples suddenly. She jerked against him from the hips up and gasped his name.

Ah.

He swallowed, and started talking. He tried to keep his voice low, and remember that they loved one another exclusively and thoroughly, and that this was okay.

“You like that?” he asked. He did it again and she whimpered so sweetly he mouthed the outer curve of her ear, the lightest press of teeth something he’d never tried before but found he really liked. “Tell me how it feels.”

She moaned a little instead of answering, because he kept doing it. When he finally let up on her ear, she sighed and said “Good... fire.”

Masanori felt that good fire, too, so he kissed her ear again. One hand he left at her breast to knead the skin, and the other fingers to trail along her skin without pattern. He wanted to give her what she wanted— surprises, things she couldn’t see coming.

He let his finger press into her belly button and gently tug upward. She shivered. He tapped his fingers across her midsection and felt her leaning to follow them. Sweetest thing. He needed to distract himself so he moved his mouth to the soft, soft skin of her neck and shoulder and began to nuzzle and suck. Under his lips her muscles tensed, and beside his ear a moan in her throat made his own muscles tense. He squeezed her again before resuming his touches, moving closer to the sacred space between her legs but not quite getting there.

He was so serious, about her and in general, that it wasn’t his practice to tease her. They usually touched one another with purpose that heightened their lovemaking. And sometimes their fucking, intense and fast and reassuring. With this adventure, though, he planned to surprise her— maybe surprise them both. So he set to teasing her a little, getting close to the hair that crowned her sex, even brushing it with his fingertips like he usually would… and then dancing his fingers away, swirling loops down her thighs or drawing lines up her tummy. For much, much longer than he ever had before.

He was dying to touch her, of course, feel the pleasant slide of her wet, trembling skin underneath his fingers and tongue. But as good a thing to expect as that was, he didn’t want her to be able to expect it. So he kept playing with her, painfully hard behind her ass in his lap, and kept talking.

“You’re moving a lot,” he observed, hearing his own smile.

“Nmm—! Because… I like it,” she whispered. He kissed her neck, sweetly, and said “Good.”

Masanori took yet another a deep breath and resolved to honor all her positive reactions to what they’d done so far and say what he wanted, even through the blush. She was so hot she might not know it was there if he could keep his voice steady.

“You like being touched? I’ll touch you all night. Nice and slow.”

Her head fell back toward him as she groaned, and he kissed her cheek before continuing, a low murmur that he hoped masked his nerves. He felt silly but turned on by their play. “You wanted to be surprised, so I won’t tell you what I’m going to do. But I’ll be watching you the whole time, taking in every flinch, and it’ll be a good long time before I pull you down onto me.”

“Masanori,” she whispered. “Please.”

He played with her a bit more before sliding his arms underneath her and carrying her to his bedding.

“Stay here,” he murmured over a kiss to her forehead. She nodded.  

He stepped away on silent feet, and came back a minute later just as quietly. His war mask was in hand, and he felt a little sheepish but mostly excited. She looked lovely and vulnerable, breath moving her stomach and chest, all her color standing out against his futon as she fisted the bedding and bit her lip. He wanted to mouth every beautiful part of her.

He crumpled the fabric of the mask, leaving the beaded tassel free to swing from his fist. And then he knelt over her and dragged the tassel slowly from her collarbone to her nipple. Swirled the silk threads around the soft curve and repeated the action on the other side. Her sounds transformed from a surprised coo to something throaty, a needy and feminine call for him he would not be able to deny for long.

Masanori bit at the skin over one of her ribs instead of pushing inside her like he wanted. He used the points of his canines to press into her without hurting her, a kitten bite to try to give her more of that good fire they’d found. From the sound of her moan, she liked it, so he peppered bites across her skin, resting his forehead on her breasts and letting her nipples press into his skin, loving that they were hard enough not to give and how every gasp pressed her body up to him.  

“Spread your legs,” he told her, moving inside them as she obeyed. He knelt as though bowing to her sex and let a hot, wet breath blow from his mouth to her body. He could see her skin flexing and all her shivers, and he loved it. So he did it again.  
  
“Masanori--!” she whined. For _him_. What a feeling.

He brought his tongue close enough to feel the heat of her before dipping his head to the small space between her slit and her ass and letting his tongue prod, gentle but strong. He knew she wouldn’t miss it. They’d never done this before. But he remembered having brushed fingertips along the sensitive skin and her body bowing at the unexpected contact. That was what he wanted to give her now.

It seemed to be working, since his hands on her thighs were all that kept them on the bedding as her body jerked. She made a few inarticulate cries around pleas for more. Which he gave her.

His nose was practically in her pussy this way, and he resolved then and there to do this as many times in the future as she would allow. He _loved_ the way she smelled, the musk and silk of her arousal something no one else got to experience. Kiyomasa and all the others could go to hell before he would ever let them close enough to try.

Under his tongue, the skin kept flexing, and under his hands, she kept shuddering. Her breaths were pants, noisy and stuttered up by his pillow, and he wanted to make her make more of those noises, keep surprising her. But he was also desperate to taste her. Perhaps just one lick wouldn’t throw them off of all tonight’s efforts.

He moved his hands to her hips to hold her down as he took a long, slow lick-- slower than usual, to keep her on her toes, as it were-- from the skin he’d explored to the slit of her body to its curious, adorable tip. And then he had to do it again, because one lick wasn’t enough. He let himself grunt into her pussy, loving the taste and the knowledge of the taste, how he _knew_ she was wetter than usual and what that meant she was feeling. He pulled his lips back from his teeth to scrape their edges down her most vulnerable flesh and then pushed his tongue into her body and swirled it, thinking only of how much he loved her and wanted her to feel pleasure.

He registered the feeling of her fingers tight against his scalp, keeping him close to her. If she was fine with that he had no inclination to leave, so he kept fucking her with his tongue, nudging her clit with his nose while his hands relaxed over her hips in silent, pressureless instruction: **_you want this, you stay put._**

She did. For longer than he expected. Her quiet fortitude had always been attractive to him.

But when he curled his tongue inside her to draw out her juices and slurp them into his mouth without shame (there was nothing shameful about giving her pleasure), she began to tremble all over again. She got particularly shaky when he sucked against the lips of her sex, so he did it again. Again. _Again_. She was a beautiful mess in front of him, around him, and he was grateful for everything she’d allowed him to learn about her body.

“I love you,” he murmured, not sure if she would be able to hear him even if she weren’t squealing. He pressed his tongue against her clit, finding the slippery tension and _pushing_ it the way he wanted to push her, the strange and exciting way she was pushing him, asking for this. The sweetness of her voice became a cry and she gripped his hair, keeping him in place as she rocked against his face and came.

He tried to be still, but couldn’t help smiling. He rubbed his face in her sex, and kept doing it, playfully, when she yelped. He was thankful he wasn’t the one wearing the blindfold. He wanted to see all of this, every flinch, like he’d told her.

He _really_ wanted to fuck her. Close to wits’ end trying to figure out what to do next, he sat up so he would be less tempted to put his mouth back on her and drink up all she had to offer until she passed out.

That wasn’t a bad idea for another time, he privately noted. Her lips were parted, a beautiful blush on every part of her face the blindfold didn’t hide, and her deep breaths moved her shoulders and breasts in the air in gentle motions he thought he could admire for hours. He wanted to make her feel like this every chance he got.

“I love you,” he said again. Somehow even through his happiness it sounded severe, but he watched recognition bloom on her face in one of the smiles he loved, and when she whispered the same and reached for him, he didn’t think there was anything to do but move forward and kiss her.

Masanori let his fingers go directly to her slit, stroking and tapping alongside the entrance to her pussy without entering her at all as the sounds of their kisses filled the air. Not surprising, exactly, but hopefully different.  

“Please--” she mumbled against his mouth.

“Lonely?” he tried. It felt wrong; he really wasn’t any good at teasing her. She was too important.

But she hummed assent without any hesitation and caught his lip with her teeth. She returned his gentle bite as she held him with her teeth and her arms. The tiny sharpness went right to his cock, which jerked between their bodies. “Please,” she repeated, without clarifying.

He pressed against her arms until she released him, and then he sat back and took himself in hand and let his tip graze the lips of her weeping sex. She wasn’t the only one. His precum had spilled and smeared on her belly as he kissed her, and the sight made him throb in his palm.

“How?” he asked. She moaned.

He narrowed his eyes, hoping it would carry into his voice. “Answer me,” he said.

“Please don’t make me choose, just-- Ma-- Masanori!” He very much enjoyed how much she seemed to like being touched, the slide of his cock against her enough to interrupt her words. “Be inside me,” she begged, reaching for him blindly.

He heard his blood roar in his body, going so hot for her he had no words for a moment. He batted her hands away without force. He managed to grit out “Legs. Up.” as his nostrils flared so strongly he could see them. She put her knees up toward her breasts and he grabbed her ankles, trying to slow down but finding it difficult. He reminded himself that this was _her_ and he owed her better than frenzy. His thumbs rubbed the inside of each ankle as he brushed his cock against her, gritting his teeth again. Eager for her tightness but not so selfish he’d take away from what she wanted, he swallowed and told her to count to three.

She looked adorably confused, but she slowly began to count. When her mouth finished trembling around the second word, he snapped his hips to push inside her, trying to keep some element of surprise for her.

The breath she yelped into herself surprised _him_. He drew back and repeated the motion, hoping she’d do it again. She moaned his name, which he decided he liked at least as much. He pressed quick but reverent kisses to each of her ankles, just above his thumbs, and told her again that he loved her.

She said it back, the sweetness going shrill in a wail as he slowly sank into her again. She bit one of her fingers, wincing behind the blindfold as she grabbed at his thigh with her other hand.

He was more deeply inside her body than he’d ever been before, and the tightness of the new space pressing along the length of his cock made him squeeze her ankles again just so he wouldn’t be alone with the pressure of it.

“So _deeeeep~!_ ” she squealed, and he nearly came right then from hearing her voice his own thoughts. He should never have thought he was alone. She always always in his heart, and when he got to be in her body he needed to focus more. He listened to her little gasps and loved her with his entire soul, groaning when he bottomed out and the ruddy hair above his cock partially obscured her own dark curls.

A wisp of a thought threaded its way through his mind that perhaps this was something like what their child might look like. Fiery and fierce, burnished and beautiful. As he unconsciously began to try to imagine it, he groaned and rubbed himself against her mound in crescent motions, the idea stoking his arousal-- the sight of her sweet little belly, stretched over his child. He must have done something, because she groaned, too, the muscles of her legs and ass flexing to push at him better and chase the friction he was trying to provide. The clenching extended into her body, around him, and he shuddered. He watched her thrash a bit, licking her fingertips so wantonly he feared he might have to start counting.

Instead, he said “Use those hands to touch yourself,” and even though he knew his own voice, it came out in a husky tone he did not recognize at all. It thrilled him, though. He hoped it thrilled her.

She started drawing her fingers down immediately, panting _yes_ es in between her breaths as her hands moved from her chin to her throat. He could see her pressing her own skin, nails leaving vanishing trails of paleness in their wake. She squeezed her breasts together, nipples peeking at him between her fingers and then going a beautiful red as she pinched them. He pushed into her as hard as he could then, hoping to spur her on.

“You are so _tight_ ,” he marveled, as she squeezed around him, his thighs shaking before he got himself under control. She bit her lip and responded “ _You’re_ just _big!_ ” before pressing harder with her teeth and fingers and whining for him. The sound made him want to pound into her until she screamed.

Instead, he told her, “Hands lower.” She whined again, but one of her little hands immediately  trailed down over the sea of bite marks he’d left on her ribs. She swirled a finger around her belly and he felt a powerful surge in his desire for her as he realized she was pointing at the space where their child would grow. He swore under his breath and she nodded wordlessly, bouncing up at him as best she was able with his hands still around her ankles. He remembered his thumbs and her fingers and pressed his blunt nails into the skin under her joints. She shrieked and her hand shot to her clit so fast it was stuck between their bodies for a beat as he pushed into her again.

“Masanori,” she whimpered as he pulled back. She held the sound of his name, quiet but pitchy, and he found himself smiling.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded as he pushed back into her. He wanted to see it, watch those capable kitchen fingers of hers work herself to shattering around his cock. He had a magnificent view in this position. Her legs tensed again under his hands and when he spared a glance up at one of her feet, he saw the toes were curled. He felt… triumph, he thought that was it.

“I love it when you squeeze around me,” he grunted. “Like watching you get all tense.”

She nodded frantically, breathing in time with the movement of her fingers rubbing just above where his cock was plunging into her body. The wet stretch of her felt so good, and what she was doing was so erotic, he hissed. It felt like steam escaping his body.  

“C-close,” she breathed, hand abandoning her breast and returning to her mouth so she could push the pad of her thumb against her top teeth as she began to shake.

“Do it,” he said, watching her closely as he spread her ankles just a little farther out. “Let me see,” he begged. “Go on, it’s so perfect when you do. Show me.” Masanori realized he was talking too much but all he could see was her sweet face straining as her mouth wordlessly opened around her thumb. He knew her eyes were scrunched up tight behind the blindfold and her teeth would chatter if she let her mouth close. Her shaking became trembling around him, and in his hands, and then she went still and he felt _absolute_ triumph.

“YES!” he bellowed, no match for the way her insides stroked him as she came. He could feel the heat of his cum spurting into her and being pushed against her walls as he continued fucking her, half mad with pleasure and desire for her.

As he slowed she was limp beneath him, tongue working gently against the tip of her thumb. He guided one of her legs down beside his and used his now free hand to pick up hers, resting on her sex with the occasional twitch. He leaned forward to kiss each of her fingers without pulling her, and her sleepy smile felt just as good in his soul as her peak had felt around his body.

“I’m going to get a cloth,” he murmured, kissing the ankle still in his hand before bringing it to rest on the bedding. She nodded and winced as he pulled out of her, come immediately dribbling out. He hurried away and back, and cleaned them both up carefully before stretching out beside her.

Touching the fabric above her cheek, he asked, “Do you want this off now?”

“Please,” she said sleepily. “I want to see your face so much.”

To give his blush time to go down, Masanori first kissed her forehead. Then her cheeks. Then the tip of her nose. Only as he kissed her widely smiling mouth did he untie the bow he’d made behind her head, carefully pulling the length of sash away from her face.

“You are perfect,” he said solemnly against one of her eyelids. “You are amazing.”

She tilted her face up to try to kiss his chin. “That was better than I dreamed. Thank you,” she whispered.

“I would do anything for you,” he reiterated, returning his mouth to hers. She hummed, sated and sleepy, into their kiss, and they shifted to cuddle comfortably after he put the blankets over them. Masanori watched as she fell asleep, her cheek against his arm.

He dreamed of her, blindfolded and writhing beneath him on the bloody grass of a battlefield. He dreamed of her, pregnant and nursing their child (dark brown hair with a red gleam).

They woke together the following morning, fingers laced together and resting on her naked stomach.

He knew he would do **_anything_** for her.


	5. Second Spell (Sen no Rikyū)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is thanks to Mari, Barbara, and Kireyna. So glad you enjoyed the first bit!

_“Keep your promise, lovely girl, and I will give you something wonderful,” he promised in a whisper._

_He slid his cock into your mouth and his fingers into your hair, and you believed him._

* * *

When he was done, your jaw was sore and your tastebuds felt prickly under the warm thickness coating them. Your ears and cheeks were warm from his grip and your flush. Your shoulders were locked in place and your hands were beginning to go numb from pressing against each other so hard to _stay still._ Your shins on the floor were cold through the kimono. You... really hadn’t expected him to do that. You weren’t sure if you felt elevated or used. 

But you were in exactly the same position as you were before he started; you _hadn’t_ _moved_. Every drop of the tea was safely in the beautiful cup. You were sure you were relieved about that, and curious about what he would do now.

”Part, little bird in the brush. Tongue out,” he whispered. There was the faintest touch of a groan in his speech and were it not for the cup, you might have shivered. You slowly pushed your tongue and his softening manhood from your mouth, trying with all your heart to be delicate about it so it was clear you didn’t want to force him away. Truthfully, some dark part of your mind wanted to pull at him with your tongue and cheeks, suck the pleasure from him as he’d let you attempt at the end. Make him gasp. Make yourself gag again, on the power of _having_ him as much as on the bump of him hitting your throat. 

Your legs felt cold but where they joined was warm every time you dared to clench that confused and eager and anxious part of yourself. You thought you knew what this puzzle of feelings was, but not how to proceed with it. The warmth and the pressure of the squeezes felt good— if you were free to move your body more, you would have pressed your thighs together as tightly as your hands, chasing the heat that was not quite an itch, not quite a bother, but driving you toward madness as surely as either. You wanted to press your legs closed _around_ something. And you also wanted to spread them so wide the stretch would burn your thighs as you showed him what he’d done to you. 

But you couldn’t do either of those things, so you begged him with your still-streaming eyes as he drew himself back, just as slowly and smoothly as he had fucked your mouth. The head of his cock dragged against your tongue as you screamed for him to stay with you in the most still and silent way you could.

Perhaps he noticed, because he did not pull back so far your bodies separated. He looked at your pleading face for the briefest of moments before quietly saying “Steady.” It offended your heart. How could he feel calm this close to your distress, this soon after what he had done?

But he might have been talking to himself, as he took his relaxing length in his hand and pulled it the last of the way down along your tongue. He shuddered again, more distinctly this time, and it took almost everything you had not to shudder and all you had left over to not close your lips around him and pull him back into the painted warmth of your mouth. When he moved the tip of his cock back onto your tongue to stroke it down again, He closed his eyes and graced you with the softest sigh imaginable, the sound of wind on fields in a faraway valley.

“Splendid little sparrow, to listen so well,” he said pleasantly, eyes glittering as he opened his eyes. “Give this back to me now,” he added, words more breath than voice, and he plucked the cup from your palms with one steady hand and tightened the other around himself, half-hard again already. That voice in the back of your mind wondered how hard he would be if you had sucked him as you’d wanted to.

His fingers slipped over his length before he gripped suddenly, coaxing another tiny spurt of the stuff coating the insides of your cheeks into the beautiful cup. He gently swirled the tea and seed together like a god creating the heavens in his hand.

When he had taken a sip and sniffed the mixture, he knelt gracefully to the floor to set the cup down some ways away. You felt as though you’d been gently ripped away from a friend.

“We’ll deal with that later,” he told you kindly.

You left your hands in front of you. He watched you as he stroked one of his fingers down the side of his smile. Without speaking, he leaned in to kiss your forehead. It felt innocent, even the tiny lick against your skin. 

“Remember: sacred and quiet, nightingale,” he whispered. You had not looked away from his face and tried to show you remembered, but he was already looking around and through you, scanning the floor.

Tea ceremony was generally a sedate affair. So you were shocked when, sudden as warrior, the man before you grabbed your wrists and the back of your neck, and pulled you to him. You couldn’t stop your gasp but you tried to muffle it with your own throat and his clothes. Sen no Rikyū was clutching you to his body, strength in his slim hands and arms.

”Soft and sweet,” he murmured into your hair, and you were so happy to have pleased him you felt the heat of salt beading your lashes. Because he’d just told you to be quiet you didn’t sob, but if you had been more free you would have. The swirl of relief and arousal and surprise coiled around your soul like snakes, like living shimenawa.

You breathed him in to steady yourself. Sen no Rikyū smelled musty but pleasant, and his clothes were clean. As you tried to pick out the notes of his scent, his fingers behind your neck went slack and he walked them up to the pin you used to keep your hair behind your head.

”Fly and be free,” he said like a ritual, and slid the wooden tines away. Your hair tumbled against your shoulders and back in a way no man had seen since you grew old enough to pin it. Pale fingers explored it as he continued to hold your wrists with his other hand. After a moment of play, he gathered your hair in his grip and pushed you to bend to the floor, pressure against your wrists unyielding but not unkind. He held your hair to the side as he leaned over you, and his eyes finally came back to yours and smiled at you as your back met the floor. 

“Your soul is yearning, and that pleases... the heavens,” he said. Your lips trembled— you wanted to please _him_ — and he smiled more, eyes crinkling and more dignified than any human had ever been before him, you thought. “Shh,” he reminded, and you realized your mouth was open. You closed it and nodded, feeling the slightest pull at the back of your scalp from the hair in his hand. That dark, pleasurable space in your thoughts wanted him pull it so hard you cried.

Instead he moved, releasing your wrists at last to lay your fingers against your throat. It reminded you to stay quiet and gave you something to focus on as your pulse beat through the warm skin. You had half a mind to stroke yourself. You needed to be touched, could feel your  desire skittering across your skin. 

Sen no Rikyū touched you, but not as you would have begged. He let your hair fall to the floor and used his hands to spread it around your head, fanning it out like a painting of the rays of the sun. You wished you could see it. The pleasure in his smile made you think it must be beautiful. 

He returned to you, settling his legs on either side of yours and leaning down to kiss to your forehead, which became a whispered blessing against each of your eyelids before he kissed the tip of your nose... and then finally your mouth, and as he touched his tongue to yours he began to rut against you. When you dared to press yourself up toward him he laughed, delighted and dark, right into your mouth.

He undressed you slowly, skimming your skin with his fingertips, prodding at your softness. In some places he hummed thoughtfully, in others he chuckled at your responses to his touches. When you tried to sit up to help him remove your kimono he pushed you back to the floor with a reproachful look, so it lay open around you, still on your arms. He untied and removed your slip, dropping it to the side of your body with the same delicate carelessness as he had your hairpin.

And then he moved to lay by your side and his fingers went right for the bared heat of you. You pressed on your throat to keep the sound in it. He was slipping through all your wetness, hooking a finger to pull strands of arousal up and over the place you were desperate for him to touch. You knew the way you brought yourself pleasure. What would a man’s fingertips feel like? Most importantly, what would this man’s fingertips feel like?

Like a slow slide into the heavens, you  learned. He did... something, something amazing you couldn’t make out but thoroughly enjoyed. He didn’t hurt you at all; his movements were gentle slips against your wetness, he might have been pushing you between two fingers but it wasn’t hard enough to be called a pinch. It felt more like a massage.

And you loved it.

”Sometimes,” he told you, his hardness rubbing your hip as he continued to touch you, “there are places in ceremony where words are appropriate.”

Was he asking you to speak? It was hard to think when he was sliding along your sex with his fingers like that, playing with the spot above it that made you want to explode.

He held the spot in place— still not a pinch, but a firmer grip— and flicked at it with another finger, and you nearly screamed. You managed to strangle the sound only by clamping your teeth together.

Sen no Rikyū smiled and laughed. Soft and elegant. Noble.

“Tell me how you feel,” he commanded. He held you but only stroked you softly, which allowed for thought.

Your voice sounded small in your own ears when you answered ”...blessed.”

He looked surprised, and then smiled at you very fondly.

”Treasured songbird,” he said, cupping your sex. “Have you trilled for a man before now?”

His speech was poetic but you knew what he meant. You shook your head.

”Good,” he said with undignified but welcome smugness, as his finger pressed inside you and you struggled to stay sane. His finger went deeper than your own ever had! You clenched around him, desperate to feel where he was touching you, and he huffed another laugh as he pressed against your walls, as though prompting you to squeeze.

He continued to slip through your wetness like he was painting you with his fingertip, and you continued to love it. When you were close, you mouthed “master,” unsure if you were still permitted to speak or what you should call him.

”Fly and be free,” he repeated with a smile, keeping his pace and adding the slightest additional pressure. “You may cry out if you are quiet.”

You did. He left his finger inside you and you were grateful for it, his resistance to the pulsing of your inner muscles making everything more pleasurable and intense. As your breathing slowed he pressed in a little deeper still, and touched something that made you flinch. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t pleasant.

”Good girl,” he said thickly beside you. He took his hand from your sex to his mouth and sniffed his fingers, touched them to his tongue. 

“Clean this, and you may have your present.”

You grabbed for his wrist and pulled it to your lips, kissing his pulse before you sucked his fingers clean. He watched with an expression you couldn’t confidently identify. It might have been amusement. He shook free of your grip when you were finished and trailed his fingers from your cheek to just above your collarbone. His thumb stayed in the notch there as he nudged your legs apart and settled himself within them. Your heart was pounding and your mouth had gone dry.

”Are you thirsty, little bird?” he asked, stroking the lowest part of your throat with his slender thumb. When you glanced down you saw he was untying his own obi, fingers sliding into the knot and loosening the tie. He let it fall around himand parted his robes, showing you everything you hadn’t been able to see before. Sleek silver-white hair above the narrow strength of him. A lean abdomen.

You nodded, and he reached for the cup and set it near your head. 

He fit himself to you without another word. The stretch of his cock in you wasn’t too bad— wasn’t bad at all, really. He slid so very slowly you had time to consider what was happening and how it felt.

Sen no Rikyū stopped, and you looked up at him in alarm. He was no deeper than his fingers had gone. This wasn’t the end, was it?

”Be calm,” he demanded gently. “Drink the tea. You’ve done well.”

You leaned your head forward as you brought the cup to your lips. You’d protected and earned this tea, made by a master of the art. You took a reverent sip and your eyelids fluttered open— it was sweet! The smoky sweetness of honey was mixed with the tea! 

He smiled at your expression of gratitude and nodded for you to drink more. You took a larger sip, letting the pleasant taste rest on your tongue and give you the unexpected sweetness of a rare treat like honey.

As you did, he pushed himself into you, and you swallowed the tea and a noise of pain. There was a twinge, like a pinch that was echoing around him. It was like no hurt you’d experienced before, and it was... you couldn't quite tell. It was vanishing.

”Drink,” he told you again, and you took another sip, wincing but in less pain with every blink. The drag of him out of your body was so pleasurable it was making your legs tremble. You wanted him to push back inside you and ease the sting with the pressure of his presence, this rubbing he was doing.

”Drain the cup,” he said softly, and you did, watching as he watched you swallow. Even the dregs were sweet. He took it from you and set it back on the floor beside your head. Then Sen no Rikyū cupped the back of your right thigh and pulled it upwards, making more space for himself close to where he had joined you.

”You may look,” he said, brushing hair from your face with his free hand. The words and the gesture felt tender. You stretched your neck to see. 

He pulled his hips back far enough that you could see the red stickiness on his cock, and though you’d known, to be presented with proof was thrilling and stupefying. You watched as he pushed back in, listened as he groaned, and waited for him to pull back out. The pain was a shadow of itself, faded enough that you forgot it entirely when he moved.

The next time he moved to pull out, you gripped at him with your arms and with the muscles inside you that didn’t want to let him go.

”Please— please,” you mouthed. He looked at you fondly and nodded. With a close-mouthed kiss he pressed you back to the floor.

* * *

Aside from the warmth of the lean body behind you, all was cool. The hall was dark; the tea master had been joining your bodies long past the afternoon. He'd spilled your blood once and himself twice after. The tea or the exertion had muddled your brain and blanketed what defenses were left to you.

“Master,” you dared to whisper into the dimness. “Was my present the tea or becoming a woman?”

The elegant laugh he nuzzled against your ear made you shudder, and you were still shuddering when he rolled over you, caging your body with his knees and hands. The smile he gave you was sweeter than the tea. His eyes seemed more connected to yours now, and you wondered if that was because of what had happened or if you’d passed some other test. You wanted the connection and craved his trust and indulgence. That sleepy-slow thread of wickedness in the back of your mind stirred again to suggest that you could reach out your hand and touch him. Your palms were warm in the chill of the hall. You did not think he would reject you.

”What do you think, little bird?” he asked quietly.

You decided to brush your fingertips against him, a soft contact you hoped his response might help you decide what to do next. But his fingers brushed against your wrist first, and gripped you like a living manacle. Fear and excitement dried your throat.

”I asked a question,” he said softly. So softly. You didn’t need to be under any enchantment to know your only choice was to answer a man with a voice that soft and dangerous.

”I do not know,” you admitted, trusting that your honesty would be appreciated over a guess. “I appreciate all you have given me.”

He stroked your cheek and smiled. “Sweetest, most cherished songbird,” he praised, before kissing your forehead again. “Sleep now,” he told you, settling back onto his side and pulling you close. "I'll have you again in the morning."

And he did. He took his time and told you to be as loud as you wished.

That night he was gone.

* * *

Late in the autumn of the year your son was three, you were commanded to send him to his father, then in permanent service to the Toyotomi. It nearly killed you to be parted from the boy. Mercifully, before anything blossomed you were summoned to join him.

You took the precious cup, the only momento of Sen no Rikyū you possessed, aside from your child.

From the time you arrived, cup in your hands, you were given honey-seasoned sips almost as often as the sun rose and set. Over time it was enough to soften, and eventually erase, the bitterness of your lonely time without him. You had more children, and even joy. Sweetness proved itself a very powerful spell.


	6. Venture (Kanetsugu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore this was already here! Whoops. Written for karalija.

Not only had all of Kanetsugu’s efforts over the last few days paid off in terms of Kenshin actually _working_ , they had managed to eke out enough progress together that he could actually let Kenshin moon about for a while. Kenshin had been productive enough that time for training would be reasonable, and Kageie was always game to provide that time. After training Kenshin would want a snack, and Kagetsugu was going to handle that since his food was so much improved. When Kenshin was finished eating and praising Kagetsugu, Yoshichi was going to ask Kenshin to show him something in the treasury.

So Kanetsugu had two hours. Maybe more, depending on how caught up Kenshin would get flitting from favorite thing to favorite thing. Two hours of privacy in the middle of the day when people would be busy on the other side of the castle, so he could let his guard down a little.  

Best of all, he could let his guard down with _her_ , since he had her right where he wanted her: standing in the middle of his office chamber, far away from the Kenshin-centric madness. Blindfolded. There was so much curiosity and excitement radiating off her body he wanted to smell her… so he did. He took a draught of her straight off the skin of her neck, nose pressed so close he followed when she startled at the touch she couldn’t see coming. Beautiful, ticklish girl. She smelled like just-made mochi, like rice prepared with tea. 

He was all alone with her, and tempted to spend this valuable time teasing her slowly and then sending her about her day until they could next be together. But he himself couldn’t stand not to be with her now. He had worked hard to be able to have this time to please her, and have his pleasure from her. As attractive as teasing her would be– especially because no one would suspect, how could they? He so prim and she so sweet when others were looking– they weren’t in public now, and their privacy and proximity and his need for her were already making his eyes narrow and his cock hard.

Kanetsugu had blindfolded her with a length of blush silk that couldn’t rival the color of her cheeks or her lips, though without the draw of her eyes her nose looked more pert and her lips looked fuller. The silk couldn’t rival the color of her sex, either, which he was certain was already slick and wanting. Moments earlier, he’d taken her wrists in his hands and held them at the sides of their bodies as he kissed her, stroking the tips of free fingers up her palms. He didn’t tower over her as other men might, but she’d confessed in a tryst weeks ago that the difference of their hand sizes made her weak every time he got to touch her. He silently thanked the heavens that he could ever touch this lovely woman, so passionate underneath the diffident glaze that coated her in public.

He very much wanted to coat her with something else. Perhaps he would.

Smiling at the thought, Kanetsugu leaned to be closer to her ear. “You lustful thing,” he observed in a whisper, knowing he was at least as wanton for her. His fingers were massaging her breasts, picking up the resistance of her nipples as they stiffened under his touch. “So soft… except…,” he teased, tweaking one and then the other. The action pulled shaky gasps into her throat, vulnerable little movements of air. One day, when they had more time, if she was willing (and all their time together made him think she would be), he would fuck her with his hands around her throat. He’d put her in danger to keep her safe. _Mmm._ He adored her, but the pull he felt to dominate her ruled him sometimes and confused him at others.

For now, he wanted her against the wall, and he wanted her paying close attention. That was the point of the blindfold. In this special time they had together, he wanted her to _feel_. “You’ll do as I say?” he asked, voice low and quiet. He watched her lips part as she drew in a breath and nodded slowly.

“That’s very good,” he praised, nuzzling at her cheek. She squirmed. Praise worked on her every time, too. And she was so deserving of praise; sweet and hardworking, and so very lovely.

He pressed himself to her without supporting her body, and she took the cue to step backwards. Tiny step by tiny step, he led her to the wall, seeking the stability of a wooden beam for what he had in mind. When they got there he slid one arm around her back and let the other hand float up from her neck to her ear to the back of her head, just below the knot of the silk. “You may move your hands,” he said. They reached for his arms and she followed the tense lines of his body to cup his cheeks, tilting her face toward his now that she knew where it was.

“I’m happy to be here with you,” she offered, the total lack of guile untangling yet another knot in the scar tissue over his heart. She was so… important. Dear.

As he pulled himself together, he watched the uncovered half of her face reveal her interest in what they would get up to. When he was calm, he pulled her to him so fiercely his tongue felt her moan of surprise as it pushed into her mouth. Her fingers, calloused but soft, like his but roughened by very different work, fluttered against his cheeks. He groaned into the warm dessert that was her mouth as he squeezed her tighter, closer. When he got inside her, he was going to keep her body pressed so very close to his. He wanted to wrap around her and overwhelm her. He’d have her from behind and keep her body right up against his own, or lay her on the floor and put the backs of her legs against his chest as he fucked into her like a madman. That was the way it always went; perhaps if they could be together more often or more openly he wouldn’t be so overcome by desperation. He knew they were risking discovery and conception and shame. But for now he was desperate, too desperate to be much concerned, and her reactions and her sweet words over the last few months told him she was, too.

He managed to let go of her only by reasoning to himself that he had to get her undressed. Curling his tongue around her upper lip helped, too.

“Hands above you,” he said thickly. Kasugayama would never know what kind of lover he was and he was mostly at peace with that. In the moment it was always more difficult not to be prideful, not to want to mark her neck or dainty wrists with his mouth, not to seek to make her cry out. But aside from their one out-of-town night together ( _“Matters of state,” he’d spent many of the dark hours murmuring directly against the seam of her legs and onto the sensitive little bud above it, “we’re here for matters of state” right from his teeth to her ear as he held her up by her inn robe so he could get at the angle she liked, urged on by her voice calling for him with no restraint despite her boneless satiety, **you are as important to me as matters of state** he had been trying to tell her_ ) they kept quiet. They allowed themselves hushed sounds and had to be content with that.

He thought these things as he undressed her, pulling one obedient arm down at a time and kissing the inside of each naked elbow. And he got harder. He would not be able to tease her for very long today. When she was bare, he removed his own robes, setting them down with far less care than was his custom because he was jittery to get to her. That desperation was fizzing in the blood of his arms, muscles tense.

He was still going to touch her and talk to her as their time allowed, of course, but before he really started he just had to check in, had to make sure she knew he… felt very strongly, that he adored her and that this was play for them to enjoy, not something to make her unhappy.

He stepped close, body crowding hers to the wall. Fingers of one hand slipped along the pink silk, and he had to admire the crests of her brows peeking out above the blindfold. She was so lovely. Why did she want him?

When would he risk asking?

“If you want me to stop, you’ll say ‘blossom,’ yes?” he asked instead.

“Yes. I’ll say it if I want you to stop.” He could hear the need in her voice and he shook his head a little, feeling like his thoughts were cobwebbed by greedy dreams of her body. They were so close his nose brushed hers and he watched her mouth become a gentle curve.

“Good,” he said, touching his nose to hers deliberately. “Now turn around, shameless thing,” and his eyes went narrow as he stepped back and she complied. He spared a thought for wishing he could be the wall, her breasts flattened against him. But as he took in the lines of her body, particularly the softness of her back and the roundness of her backside as she pushed them toward him, he knew he was where he wanted to be.

“Feet apart,” he directed.

She shuffled to a more comfortable standing position and as soon as she went still, he smacked one side of her ass, hard enough that he knew her mound had touched the wood in front of her. A dark part of him wondered if she’d been wet enough to leave it slick.

Her quick “hah!” of surprise ended in a hiss, and she started quivering. He knew, his body knew she was clenching inside herself, and it made his eyes roll back into his head. He counted himself so euphorically blessed with the knowledge that he hit the other cheek just as hard. Telling himself to go still to tamp down on his excitement, he asked flatly “Like that, do you?”

“Mmhmm,” came her trembling response, already dreamy.

“Good,” he whispered, voice emotive to push the point home. “You’re doing so well.” He trailed his fingertips down her back, and then he hit her again, alternating the sides.

“Filthy,” he observed drily, and she was moaning throatily as he whispered “beautiful,” so he wasn’t sure she heard him.

She whimpered as he massaged both sides of her rump with gentle, repetitive strokes. Her flesh was pliant and hot under his fingers, and lovely twin blotches were coming up with the heat. As she resettled herself, forearms against the wall so she could drop her head, her ass fit itself more perfectly into the curves of his hands. He swallowed a groan and leaned back so he could glance at the inside of her legs. 

He’d known she was wet as he undressed her. Now it was showing on the inside of one thigh, a beautiful glint. It made him feel dizzy. He spanked her again, grunting as his eyes narrowed in pleasure at the sight of his hand making contact with her skin. The sounds of the slaps were crisp and they registered in his ears only briefly before settling in his balls.

“Stay where you are,” he said firmly, squeezing her as he dropped to his knees. He didn’t move his hands as he tongued his way up the inside of her leg. At the fold of flesh where the curve of her sex met her thigh he sucked the skin into his mouth and then held her in his teeth, and he nearly came from her trembles alone. Or maybe it was that she didn’t try to get away. Whatever it was, she was undoing him. He pressed the bite just a bit before releasing the skin and standing, fingers digging into her rear as he got up.

He slid his hands to her hips and leaned up behind her ear to scold. “Care to explain why you’re such a spectacle between your legs?”

Her tiny sigh of arousal made his cock jump. Everything this woman did made his cock jump. He was insane for her, privately marveling at every hour they made it through without him dragging her away from her work, at the way she could be so demure during the day and such a passionate lover when they came together as their time allowed.

“You,” she said, and it sounded like a yelp. He realized his cock was between them, pressing into her abraded backside. The plush heat of it was so gratifying he shuddered, and he pushed his hips toward hers to repeat what she’d felt. They both groaned.

“I can’t– wait,” he confessed, feeling terribly weak and ablaze with power over her as his hand slid down her left thigh.

“Don’t,” she whined. “Please, please.” She swayed her bottom against him, sucking in a breath as his shaft caught her raw skin. “Please, Kanetsugu.”

“Ridiculous,” he answered, “Needy thing.” He was grateful she was facing away and blindfolded and thus incapable of seeing his blush. He pushed her body toward the wall as he got purchase on her leg and raised it. He took himself in hand, stroking as he guided his cock a little lower, a little to one side.

“Kanetsugu,” she begged again. It made every part of him feel alive.

When he was certain that he’d found home, he released himself to slide his arm around her stomach. He held her body in place as he rested his forehead on the back of her shoulder and pressed slowly into her. The sound of her long exhale made his internal struggle not to slam into her reach a fever pitch, but he demanded of himself that he move as slowly as he could endure. For his trouble he got to relish more of her needy, shuddering pants until he bottomed out. And then she tensed around him and her head went back, mouth wide but silent.

He swore under his breath, holding the sound of the word as a tether to life outside the sensation of her around him.

She was making a string of quiet, impassioned sounds now that he was in her, and he wanted to catch each one and hang them from his sword hilt like charms. He wanted every shocked and blissful noise. He could go no further forward, but he used the hand at her stomach to push her back onto him and she squeaked and jerked. She did not say the word to stop him. So he tightened his grip on her thigh and pulled himself back, staying slow. Parts of her beautiful body were spasming and it made him smirk against her shoulder.

“Be still,” he gritted through his teeth, wanting to push her and feeling like a bastard. He bit his lip behind her to punish himself for it. She whined, but she was able to slow and eventually stop most of the shudders. His regard for her swelled in its home in his chest.

“That’s very good,” he whispered, wrapping his arm more fully around her middle and cupping the curve of her side.

He pushed into her again, the movement smooth thanks to her body’s response to him. She was making those little panting moans that went right to his manhood, and he mused as he moved his hips to pull out and slide back inside her that it was a cyclical arrangement– her sounds outside her body made him feel like heaven and he was in her body, out of her body, in…

She was trembling again, too, he could feel it inside her and where he held her.

“You’re quivering,” he teased.

She blushed so fiercely he could see it on the column of her neck, and he kissed it as gently as he could as he tensed his thighs and pushed back inside her.

“It’s wonderful,” he murmured. She trembled more. She liked it when he was sadistic and she liked it when he was reverent, and he liked her when she was saucy and when she was respectful. What had he done to deserve her in his life?

She squeezed him, internal muscles feeling swollen and sleek around the cock buried within her, and he groaned again. He whispered her name against the back of her neck and nudged deeper as he squeezed her thigh to get back at her. A laugh, half-moaned, escaped her mouth.

“Are you happy?” he asked, moving faster.

“Very,” she gasped.

“Then tell me so,” he ordered, hoping his voice sounded silky instead of vulnerable. Her heat around him and his feelings for her made him feel small and swept away.

She started to say “I feel…” but before she could complete the thought he snapped his hips, faster still. That made him feel more in control.

“Tell me so,” he repeated, trailing the hand at her waist to the front of her sex as he pulled out.

She went still when his fingers splayed against her lips, opening her further as he pushed his cock back inside her. But she was shaking like a leaf again before long. He felt his favorite sensation, her legs going a bit jerky as she got close. She was slippery and smooth, like fruit in syrup. He withdrew his hand and then smacked the tender, dewy skin he’d left. Not as hard as he’d spanked her. He was careful not to hit the treasure above her entrance with too much force.

The noise she made could only come out of a person during sex, and he felt warm to his toes. She tightened around him and she ground against him and he couldn’t tell if she was doing it on purpose, but he loved it.

“Hmm. Maybe don’t bother,” he said, and then he started fucking her like he usually did, fast and hard. He was going to come powerfully, and soon. They had never done this in this position and his arm was beginning to tire from holding her leg up so rigidly but he loved it, loved pushing into her and then pushing her onto him even further, loved seeing the smooth skin of her back and knowing the little hairs of her body made it feel like a peach, loved all her noises. Loved her. _Loved_ her. He was such a fool. What was he going to do?

He felt the odd, hot, melding sensation in his back and balls that signaled his orgasm, and he stopped moving and held her to him. Her body moved minutely on his, chasing the friction he’d provided, but his hand cupping her sex didn’t give her much space.

“Good job,” he praised, blowing at the back of her ear. He realized he was fixated on her shivering and would never get tired of it.

“Do you want me to come on you?” he asked.

He knew he should stop, would have lectured anyone else on the importance of stopping.

She shook her head, the tails of the blindfold swaying.

“What does that mean?” he asked, voice much harder. He slapped her again, fingers sliding against all her wetness.

“In,” she whimpered.

He blinked, startled out of his own self. And then he grinned, a wolfish face he rarely showed the world, and said “Fine, then,” and he went back to fucking her as his body demanded.  

“‘In,’ you say,” he sneered, wishing he had more hands so he could pull her head back farther. He got closer, the crackle of fire skittering up his back, hair standing on end.

“Taking such a risk,” he said, as he spread the outer lips of her sex wide with his fingers, pushing the meat of his palm against the spot he knew would make her sing if only they’d let themselves. As it was, the song manifested in intensified trembles of her entire body, and he felt it coming, felt his shaft go more rigid within her.

She whimpered, “Kanetsugu,” a plea of his name so sweet he had never– never– heard its equal.

“Foolish,” he chided softly, meaning it and not meaning it, “beautiful woman,” and then he sped up his thrusts and said her name back to her in a desperate whisper at her ear as his cum began to leave his body for hers.

He thrust into her a few more times, letting the grip of her body coax out the last of it. Gently, he lowered her leg, his bicep prickling as he relaxed the muscle at last. He pushed her body against the wall with his, enjoying the soft warmth of her back on his chest.

It took longer than it might have normally, but he softened, and their angle worked against them. He slid from her body, thick cum dripping from both of them onto the floor. He’d have to do something about that. Later.

The sadness of her hushed moan brought him back to the moment. He rubbed his hands down the sides of her hips and murmured that she’d made him feel wonderful. He could feel her hips moving as she rutted against the wall, more on instinct that seeking friction, he believed.

He reached for the knot tied behind her head and undid it quietly. As he pulled it away, he kissed her hairline.

“I love you,” he said quietly onto the skin of her neck. “I don’t know what to do, but I love you.”

“I love you,” she answered immediately, and his lips registered a flare of warmth on her skin as his heart recognized the tiny smile in her voice that was so her.

He put his hands against the wall. “For now, turn around,” he said.

When she did, he realized as much as he’d loved this, he’d missed her eyes. He kept his eyes on hers as he brought his nose to her face, nuzzling and then kissing her slowly. This close, all her sounds could go straight into his mouth, so he let his eyes shut and the will to please her take over. She was melting for him, and he was determined that she’d do so most fully around the heat of an explosion.

“Take my hands,” he said, and it sounded far more like an order than a plea but she simply nudged his tongue with hers and obeyed. He brought their joined hands slowly down her body, leaving her mouth with a firm kiss so he could trail his own mouth between her breasts. She didn’t let go; her fingers tightened in the space between his last knuckles.

As Kanetsugu tongued underneath each breast, he wondered what to do until a helpless sigh from above him reminded him that now was the most important time.

He nibbled at the top of her navel as he crouched, then trailed kisses lower as he settled on his knees before her.

“Can you stand?” he asked, looking up at her.

“I think so,” she answered as she squeezed his hands.

“We’ll see about that,” he said smugly, and he squeezed back.

He began by sucking and licking up the inside of one thigh, cleaning (and teasing) her. He couldn’t taste himself over the tangy flavor he recognized as hers. The other thigh the worked at more slowly, before he brought his tongue to trace the length of her slit as her breathing quickened. Then he went for her in earnest, seeking out the places her body had shown him brought her pleasure.

She was saying the first syllables of his name over and over, sucking in breaths between “Ka-ne, Ka-ne,” cries increasing in pitch. He felt pride raise a smile on his face before he split it with his tongue to rub against her again. Her grip on his hands was a desperate pull for relief.

“Keep that up,” he growled.

“Kanetsugu!” she cried, managing to get a full iteration of his name out quickly before dropping her head and keening down at him.

“Good enough,” he said, and he laved her with the flat of his tongue the way she liked until she was undone.

When she could unclench her fingers, gone stiff between his, she flexed them weakly and slid down the wall into his waiting arms. He settled her against him, grateful for the comfortable warmth of the afternoon.

“I love you,” she said, and he tucked her closer against his body and repeated it back into her hair.

They stayed like that, kissing what they could reach of each other, until he knew they were skirting discovery and that by now, Kenshin had to be up to no good. It was hard to care in the light of their confessions, in the midst of their closeness. But eventually he murmured that they should get dressed.

Her cheeks looked a little flushed, not so much that exertion might not explain the color away. Her eyes were very bright, and there was not a damn thing he was willing to do about that, he discovered.

He helped tie her back into her clothes and kissed her soundly, holding her by the waist so he wouldn’t ruin her efforts at becoming presentable.

“I meant it,” he said, irresponsibility making him linger.

“I did, too,” she promised, peppering his cheeks with kisses.

He let her leave, telling her to go to the well, and to tell anyone who asked that he had sent her there, and then to the kitchens, and then to go about her day.

His thumping, needy heart cried for her like a small animal, oblivious to duty, knowing only love.

He sighed into the silence of his office and set to cleaning the floor.

* * *

“Kanetsugu~!” Kenshin trilled when they met on the veranda, moments later. “I’ve had a lovely afternoon. Did you get outside?”

“No,” he said primly. “I was working.”

Kenshin’s amusement slid into something knowing on his face.

“I see. What would I do without you?”

“Nothing good,” he groused, hoping he looked normal. Kenshin’s damnable powers of observation always seemed to heighten when Kanetsugu did not want to be scrutinized.

His lord and friend looked at him with a critical, cryptic smile.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Kanetsugu said, sketching the bare minimum of a bow and walking with purposeful strides away from the conversation.

“Kanetsugu,” Kenshin said, exercising rare lordliness in his tone which could not be ignored or defied. Damn him. Kanetsugu stopped. Their backs were to each other and the hallway was deserted.

“You should move her to your room if you both want her there,” Kenshin said quietly. More gently he asked, “Are you trying to figure out a way to obtain permission? You have it, silly dear. I want you to be happy.”

After unsuccessfully trying to calm the fire of his face, Kanetsugu managed a terse “…Understood,” and continued walking away.


	7. Vermilion (Masanori)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masanori is a few days home from the last campaign, but he's been busy to the point of exhaustion. Isn't it nice to wake up so close and observe him at sleepy peace?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted to Ao3 in 4/2018, but I'm porting it in here to hang out with the other side squeezes. :) ILYSM GENTLE GIANT GINGERSNAP!

Warmth woke you comfortably. Your lashes dragged on something as you blinked. _Masanori_ , your senses told you. _  
_

He’d slept in!

He had returned three days ago with Hideyoshi and the army. There were feasts every night to celebrate, and councils and other things you didn’t even know keeping him busy during the day. Left to his own devices, he would just keep going despite all his exhaustion, and you were worried about him. You were beyond happy he was here.

You tilted your face at his shoulder, trying not to wake him. He was snoring very, very lightly and it was so normal and domestic you couldn’t decide if you wanted to snuggle back into your space to soak it up or watch him or wake him with kisses and dote on him as long as he would let you.

Even vulnerable—well, _asleep_ , perhaps not vulnerable, but the snoring did make him seem adorably human—he was so imposing it was hard to remember how shy he was. His mouth was frowning even in rest. His reputation as stonefaced, Masanori who only broke his frown to yell, wasn’t off the mark for a casual observer. But had any statue ever been graced with such lashes? You couldn’t help wondering as the sun slipped into his room.

On one side of his face, his eyelashes caught the early light. A sunbeam had tracked across the floor as you slept, and its glow made the lashes fine lines of fire. They were vermilion, rich and red, and you knew the eyes below his lids matched them perfectly. For a casual observer, it might be unnerving to meet his eyes.

But you were not a casual observer. The two of you had been watching each other closely and carefully for months. You knew a few of his tells, now, the tiny indicators that he was frustrated or hungry. And he’d learned to tell you those things and others, if you missed them. So for all that learning and loving, here you were, tucked against your giant. In the privacy of his room. Watching the sun reveal the gloriousness of his eyelashes.

You sighed, because at the moment your life was very, very sweet. He’d bathed last night but you were so grateful he was home he could have carried all the stench of war into his bed and you’d have stayed right where you were.

Paying such close attention, you noticed when his eyelids shut a little tighter against the light making its way across his face as the sun rose.

You moved, smoothly as you could, to kneel beside him and shield his eyes from the day. For yourself you wanted to see more of that riot of color in the soft cocoon of this special time, but you also wanted to defend his comfort, and you really wanted to let him sleep. He needed it. There were so few ways you could protect him, and if this was one, that was that. You still got to watch him, too.

He was so tired he didn’t stir, even when the side of your hand rested against his temple. Good. You’d keep watch. And you did. You admired his face quietly, and you loved him.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when his frown deepened and he hummed a “Nmm,” his usual waking sound. You realized the light had moved. When those stunning red eyes opened in your shadow, his face relaxed. Even the sharpness of his brows seemed softened. You hoped he had slept well.

“…Morning,” he said, the burr of his voice quiet and pleasant. He was happy. You could tell.

“Good morning, Masanori,” you said back with a smile.

He moved his hand in an outline of your body.

“The light,” he said, groggy and adorable, hand coming to rest on your cheek. You knew from your shadow you were blocking him from the glare of it, so it was shining behind you.

He swallowed, and murmured, “You’re sun-kissed.” His sweetness was devastating like that. It manifested deeply when you didn’t expect it. You blushed, pleased and a little embarrassed at his poetic observation; so wonderful that self-preservation made you worry it was a tease. But Masanori never teased and would never, ever hurt you.

“I’d rather be you-kissed,” you offered, the bliss of the morning making you saucy. Then _he_ blushed, and though he looked like he might grumble, the combination of all that vermilion with the pink was surprisingly lovely. His eyes were very awake now.

You leaned down to brush your mouth against his and spare him the discomfort of being watched while embarrassed. His hand was waiting to cup your chin and hold you; your toes curled just as your smile did. Tiny bubbles of pleasure floated from your tummy up when your lips slid against his sleep-soft ones, buoyant with happiness and gratitude that he was home and safe, and here with you.

Masanori took your bottom lip into his mouth, gentle as he always was with you. You could feel the lightest curious sweep of his tongue against it. Light enough to have your hands slipping behind his neck so you could brush his clean, manly jaw with your fingers and try to make him keep kissing you.

He reached for you, hands settling at the back of your waist and pulling you closer, over him, onto him. The reach, the pull—those were the sorts of things that revealed what his heart was like to you, that he was private but unashamed in his desire for your closeness. Loving this man kept showing you new happiness.

You had been happy to see him putting birdseed in one of the feeders in the garden, months ago. You had been delighted when you gave a toy he’d made to a village child and knew he was watching from the shadows of a table at the teahouse across the street. Every time you found a new tiny wooden figurine resting in the circle of your window, you were profoundly glad.

Masanori was a great warrior to any observer, and to you he was your great love, too. In privacy he showed you that you were his with so much depth of care it warmed you from your heart outward. You could only grasp at him and try to show him you treasured him in the same way.

He was vermilion: worthy of admiration, lovely and rare. And his heart was gold: a priceless treasure, providing and enduring.  

You brought back an arm to brush the tips of your fingers through the cropped hair at the side of his head. It had surprised you when you first found it, the thickness of his longer hair hiding it outside of battle. And bed.

“I love you,” you whispered. It was the truest thing you knew.


End file.
